Baby, I'm Home
by jmr27
Summary: Dean gets the Impala back at the end of season seven, before they go after the Leviathan, and takes a moment to remember what he and Baby have been through over the years, and how he first started to think of the car as his home. One-shot. No real plot or action, just Dean reflecting.


(Dean gets the Impala back at the end of season seven, before they go after the Leviathan, and takes a moment to remember what he and Baby have been through over the years. One-shot.)

Black paint glinted in the sun. The door creaked and weight shifted as Dean settled into the driver's seat. He breathed deep of the familiar scent, ran a caressing hand over the steering wheel, and patted the dashboard affectionately. He wiggled is butt to find the perfect spot, fitted to him after years in the seat, better than any memory foam. With a relaxed sigh, he stretched out his legs, leaned back, and drank in the warm sensation. Home again.

These past few months, moving from car to car to evade the Leviathan and FBI, had been hard on Dean. He hadn't said anything; he knew the musical-car-dance was necessary. But he'd never been away from his Baby for more than a day or two before. Homesickness. It was something had hadn't felt since the fire had burned his last home.

He'd lost far more than a house and a mother that day. Mary's warm arms had always made him feel safe, loved. Her warm voice could chase away any fear, or pain. Her pie always made him melt, no matter how bad of a mood he was in. She had been his source of safety and comfort, and she had gone.

The house had been his world. He hadn't started school yet, and when he ventured out into the world, he always had Mom or Dad along. Most days were spent at home, playing in his room, romping in the back yard, or spread out on the couch watching cartoons. All of these simple things now only ash and smoke. He's lost any sense of stability when the four walls of that house crumbled, and he could never go back.

He'd lost Dad, too, even though the man remained. The happy smile turned to a deep grimace. Warm hands that used to lift him high, or throw a ball, now taught him to handle cold guns and steel blades. Arms that used to protect him from nightmares were now hard, teaching him to fight instead of keeping the monsters at bay. Always, he was drunk, either on beer or revenge. That father who threw a football with him in the backyard had vanished in the flames.

Even reality had shattered that night. Everything Dean thought he knew about the world changed in an instant. Violence, blood, and death were things the four-year-old had never seen before, but quickly learned to know. Monsters, too, changed the very fabric of reality inside his small mind. He'd had no way to comprehend the fear and pain that trapped them all in this never-ending road trip.

Dean remembered those first few months, and silently sent Baby a mental apology. He had hated her then, hated everything about the Impala and that back seat where he was stuck with his crying baby brother as Dad drove for hours and hours and hours. To his four-year-old self, still reeling with grief and unable to understand the events around him, each day had felt like an eternity. No more couch or cartoons, gone were his toy cars and the big backyard with his swing set. All he had was half of a back seat and a jar of green army men.

He had kicked and cried and beaten the seats every day for a month. When Dad told him to get in the car, Dean would hide in the bathroom and have to be carried out. He would sulk in the back seat, and whine for a potty break every half hour, cry for food, or just stick his head out the window. Anything to get out of that car.

It was only after months of different motels rooms, progressively more filthy and noisy as Dad's money ran out, that Dean started to appreciate the Impala. Dad always kept her clean. Dean didn't have many toys, but as Sammy got bigger he could do more interesting things. The children they met gave them sideways looks and shied away more often than they welcomed them into their games. So the back seat became a haven for Dean, the one constant in a world where nothing was certain.

As soon as his feet could touch the pedals, Dean spent more time in the front seat. Behind the wheel, he learned that the car was his to command. He could make her run smooth down an empty stretch of road, and for a few moments he felt free. He could take her to a parking lot and just turn donuts until Sammy threw up, adrenaline pumping through his veins like a drug. If trouble came, the Impala could take them away and keep them safe, tucked inside her metal embrace.

Safe. Dean would never say out loud that he was sacred, or admit to himself how fear ruled every day, every action. It was just part of being alive now. But here, with his Baby, behind the wheel or stretched out in the back seat, here he felt safe again. A feeling he hadn't had since his mother kissed him good night all those years ago.

Dean released the memory and let the moment wash over him, the feeling of safety, familiarity, comfort. He grasped the steering wheel, familiar ridges tickling his palms as if to say, "Hello." Dean smiled.

"Hey, Baby. I'm home."

The other door creaked open and Sam climbed into the car. "So, ready to do this?"

"Yep." Dean reached forward and fired up the engine. It was time to go kill some monsters.


End file.
